by Diane Rios
Just then they felt the ground tremble. A growing rumble beneath the earth made the two women look out the back doors in alarm. The trees above the hospital were shaking, bits of earth falling from the hillside. Was it an avalanche? A landslide?
It was an avalanche indeed, but not like any they had seen before. No, this one was a wave of animals that poured down the hill and spilled out into the hospital drive. Chloe and Mrs. Goodweather, standing at the doors, saw the plunging forms of deer, the gray faces of wolves, a flash of yellow mountain lions, and a general blur of fur that was hundreds of smaller animals, all racing toward them.
King Rei and his elks led the charge, bugling as they ran, their gleaming antlers with pointed tines as sharp as knives. The elk clattered onto the hospital driveway. Then, as Mrs. Goodweather and Chloe watched in amazement, the wolves followed, leaping nimbly across the drive, then wave upon wave of smaller animals, all collecting in a great mass outside the doors, which quickly became a dangerous place as the larger animals stepped on the smaller ones.
Another little earthquake announced the arrival of King Auberon and his people. Chloe gasped as the giant bears charged out of the trees and crashed into the drive. They came swiftly to the doors, but Auberon halted in front of Uncle Blake’s broken ambulance. Chloe screamed as the enraged bear swiped the car aside with one swoosh of his massive paws, sending it end over end to land upside down against the hospital wall.
Chloe clung to Mrs. Goodweather, who clung to the doorway, as the animals collected in a swirling, growling mass in front of them. What would happen now? Where was Brisco? Where was the Artist? They looked frantically for the men.
“Chloe!” They heard the Artist’s voice and finally spotted him and Brisco running toward them.
“Artist! Brisco!” Chloe embraced them both, and Mrs. Goodweather said frantically, “In the dining room!”
“The pies are working!” screamed Chloe. She looked around, over the animals’ heads. “But wait, where’s Silas?”
“He’s on his way,” said Brisco. “We can’t wait for him!” said Mrs. Goodweather. “No, we can’t wait!” agreed the Artist. “Are we ready, Brisco?”
For answer Brisco turned to the animals. “Inside! Inside! To victory!” he called out. The animals roared.
Chloe and Mrs. Goodweather stepped aside quickly, and Brisco dashed through the back doors, followed by a surge of animals. The noise was deafening as elk, wolf, fox, badger, cougar, and mouse all climbed the steps and crammed through the kitchen, destroying everything in their path.
“I had no idea there were so many!” shouted Chloe over the din.
“It’s a real army, that’s for certain!” hollered back Mrs. Goodweather, holding her arm protectively around the girl as they stood in the relative safety of the corner of the kitchen.
“Look out!” screamed Chloe.
Auberon’s massive head poked through the door, and he growled. It appeared that his shoulders were too large to enter. With an angry roar, the great bear muscled his way through, breaking a hole big enough for his body to follow.
UNCLE BLAKE PULLED HIMSELF PAINFULLY TO A SITTING position from where he lay on the floor from Mrs. Goodweather’s well-aimed kick. What is this nightmare? he whimpered to himself. Has someone let a whole zoo go free? From behind a cupboard Uncle Blake watched as the last of the animals passed by and the kitchen finally emptied. He tried getting up from his cramped position. He had to get out of here—this was sheer madness! Uncle Blake got to his feet shakily, turned to the doorway, and froze.
He was face-to-face with the furious red eyes and dripping jowls of Auberon. The bear was looking through the back door of the kitchen, and he chuffed dangerously at the man, spraying Blake’s coat with bear snot. Auberon could smell everything about the man, and it sickened him. He smelled the man’s sweat, and the tangy smell of fear. He smelled the blood on his coat, on his face, under his fingernails. Auberon had had enough. He shoved his way through the door. Plaster bits and chunks of wood exploded and rained down on the countertops. Auberon’s huge black shape pushed in and rose to tower over Uncle Blake, who made a weak, strangled scream, and fainted dead away.
MRS. GOODWEATHER AND CHLOE WATCHED FROM THE doorway as King Auberon shoved Uncle Blake’s inert form to the side with his paw, smashing him up against the kitchen cabinets. The bear then continued through the kitchen, stepping over the rubble, and disappearing up the stairs to the dining room.
Mrs. Goodweather held Chloe’s shoulder and said earnestly, “Now is your chance, dear. Run and find your mum, and look for that nice Mr. Avery too, for Celeste. I will check on the others and then come and find you. I don’t think you’ll be noticed much in all this bedlam.”
She gave Chloe a gentle shove in the direction of the hospital patients’ wing. “Through those doors at the end, I believe. Now go on, child, look around, stay hidden if you are able—I will come for you just as soon as I can!”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHLOE DIDN’T NEED URGING. SHE COULD NOT wait to go look for her mother—she had been waiting so long! She dashed toward the doors, calling back over her shoulder, “Bring the Artist with you!”
“I will, child. We will both come!” Mrs. Goodweather assured her.
Chloe ran to the doors and turned to look back, but Mrs. Goodweather had already gone. She took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.
She found herself in a white, brightly lit hallway lined with more doors. The hallway sparkled and gleamed, not a thing out of place, but was strangely quiet compared with the sounds coming from the other side of the hospital—distant crashes and screams, and that ongoing siren blaring its unheeded warning. Here all was still. Not a soul moved in the corridor. Where were the patients? Where were the doctors and nurses? Had they all run to the dining room? The hallway gleamed quietly in front of her, neatly stocked carts against the walls, their chromed sides winking in the new electric lights.
Chloe moved slowly forward down the corridor on silent feet, hardly daring to breathe. I can’t be seen. I can’t be captured! she thought, anxiously scanning the corridor ahead. Chloe tiptoed up to one of the doors and looked through the little window. Inside the room there was an empty bed, and some sort of electric instrument next to it. She moved farther down the hall and looked through another window. Another empty bed. And another. All the rooms were empty. There were no patients here! Where was everyone?
Chloe reached the end of the corridor and went through yet another pair of doors. Now she was in a larger room with several tables, lined up in a row. Each table had straps hanging from it. Chloe stared at the tables. Why would you need straps on the tables? she wondered. Unless you were trying to hold someone down . . . and they were trying to get up?
Shuddering at what that could mean, she tried not to look at anything else except for the door leading out. She suddenly did not want to know what went on in this room, and she couldn’t wait to get out of it. Chloe finally spotted the exit at the far side of the room and crossed quickly, still running on her toes as if afraid to put her whole foot on the floor, her feet light with fear.
But when she pushed against the door on the other side of the room, Chloe found it was locked. What would she do now? She had to get out of here. Should she go back the way she had come? Just then her attention was caught by some noises coming from the other side of the locked door.
Chloe went still to listen, but could not quite make out what the noises were. She heard some bumps, a muted clang, and then . . . voices! Chloe pressed her ear against the door.
Listening intently, she could tell there were several people on the other side, and they seemed to be doing something strenuous. There were several curses, and the sound of something heavy being moved; she could hear a scraping sound, and the clang of metal against metal.
A vision of that horrible door Brisco had showed her the other day suddenly rose before her. Could that be the door on the other side of this one? Were the people out there moving bodies
out of the door right this minute?
Suddenly Chloe felt terribly alone, and frightened, here in a dark room designed for what purpose she could not, would not, imagine. She wished Mrs. Goodweather and the Artist and Brisco would come. She was only twelve years old—what could she do alone?
Tears came to her eyes and she started to breathe faster. Chloe knew she was starting to panic and that it was the worst thing she could do. Mustering all her strength, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She could not fall to pieces now! She would think of something; she had to!
Chloe looked up, and noticed a window above the door. She jumped up, excited. If she could find something to stand on, she might be able to see who was on the other side, and what they were doing! She quickly looked around the room, but there was nothing to stand on except the tables. The ones with the straps. Chloe swallowed. Well, there was nothing for it; she would just have to do what she had to do.
She pushed the table over to the door and under the window. Carefully Chloe climbed up on the table, balancing precariously. Her knees shook, which made the table wobble, and she moved excruciatingly slowly to keep from making noise, or from falling. Chloe pulled herself to her feet, and held on to the transom window to steady herself. Gingerly raising her eyes up over the edge so that only the top of her head was visible, Chloe saw something that made her gasp and jerk backward. The table immediately rolled away from the wall with a crash and threw Chloe to the floor. All activity on the other side of the door halted abruptly at the sound.
Chloe lay on the floor, horrified. Her heart nearly stopped when she heard the voices shout, “Open that door! Open that door or we’ll open it for you!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MRS. GOODWEATHER HAD TO HURRY. So much time had already been lost, and they only had this one chance to take control while chaos still reigned in the dining room. She hoped the animals were doing their job. She had to grab the babies. And she had to grab them first! Mrs. Goodweather dashed past a nurse holding off a badger with a bedpan and into the dining room.
Inside was complete mayhem. Screaming people and animals ran about in confusion and fear. Here and there strange combinations of man and creature were locked in combat, making it a surreal sort of battlefield. Maids and nurses were running from the room, pursued by a mountain lion and two foxes. An ambulance driver fought off an elk with a silver candlestick, and an entire battalion of squirrels ran down the middle of the tables, hurling silverware at anyone within range.
Mrs. Goodweather saw the Artist standing on the table at the end of the room. He brandished a broom at two white-coated orderlies who grabbed at his legs. Next to him Brisco struggled with a footman. It looked as though he had already suffered a black eye, but even as she watched, a flock of crows descended on the footman’s head, scratching at his face and beating him with their wings until he let go of Brisco and fell back.
A crash beside her made Mrs. Goodweather jump aside just in time to avoid being crushed by an elk who had fallen to the floor. She backed away as the huge animal scrambled to its feet and with an angry blast lowered its antlers and rejoined the fray. Smoke began to filter into the room, and the lights flickered overhead.
Mrs. Goodweather hurried toward the big table, her eyes searching for the children. There was no sign of them at the big table, only the remains of the overturned food and broken dishes, and she felt a stab of fear that some harm might have come to the little ones.
After all, they were no longer the greedy, evil individuals that they had been. The truth was they were now wiped clean, a fresh slate, and it really wouldn’t do to let any harm come to the little tots. In fact, Mrs. Goodweather had spent some time thinking that with the right upbringing they might even grow up to be very good adults, who might even do something in the future to mend the harm they had caused in the past.
That was the future, however, and this was the present. None of that would come to pass unless she found the babies now. Mrs. Goodweather moved to the end of the table and looked around wildly. She didn’t see the children, but she did see one of her own pies left uneaten on a tray. Without thinking Mrs. Goodweather scooped it up and put it in her pocket. Then she heard a child’s cry and, looking down, spotted the white flounce of a nurse’s apron peeking out from beneath the table, as well as the heels of two black shoes.
Mrs. Goodweather bent down to look under the table. There were all the babies, gathered together and hidden with two young nurses. All of them, even the nurses, were crying.
“Ach, there, there,” said Mrs. Goodweather kindly, pulling her hanky out of her pocket and handing it to one of the nurses. “Don’t you cry, dear. Let’s get these babies out of here.”
She pulled one of the babies into her own arms and managed to pat the nurse comfortingly on the shoulder at the same time.
“But how?” sniffled the nurse fearfully. “There are bears and . . . and . . . wolves out there! Where did they come from?” She began to sob again.
“Bears? Wolves? Pish posh, what’s the big deal?” said Mrs. Goodweather airily. “They won’t be a problem, I promise.” She winked at the nurses. “They’re friends of mine.”
Incredulous, the nurses gaped back at her, but their sobs subsided.
“Hold on to those babies now, and follow me.” Mrs. Goodweather picked up another baby, a large one with a wide red smile and two white teeth in the middle of it. He was quite heavy, and as she stood up, Mrs. Goodweather adjusted him awkwardly on her hip. With a baby in each arm, she looked back at the two nurses peeking out from under the tablecloth.
“You’ve got the others?” she called down over the din. “OK, then let’s go!”
The nurses stood up from under the table, each holding two babies.
“Now!” cried out Mrs. Goodweather, spotting a break in the fighting, and the three women moved as quickly as possible across the dining room with their heavy load.
All around them, the fight raged on. The fire was now licking up the front wall of the room. More hospital workers had come from the other side, and a battalion of ambulance drivers had brought in gas canisters and masks. They were having a hard time getting close enough to the wild animals to use them, however. It is one thing to overcome a human being, especially one in cumbersome clothing, but it is quite another to grab a spitting, clawing, slippery, powerful mountain lion and put a mask over its face.
Even as they realized their masks were almost useless, the ambulance drivers began using the canisters as cudgels, swinging as hard as they could and crushing whoever got in their way. They threw the heavy metal cans at the swarms of small creatures that surrounded them, and although most of the rabbits and mice, rats and otters were nimble enough to dodge these dangerous projectiles, a few were not.
They may have had some advantages, but the animals were in no way winning the fight. They were in an alien, unfamiliar environment full of strange objects, and slick surfaces they couldn’t easily navigate. The elk’s cloven hooves slipped on the slippery marble floor and many fell, only to be beaten where they lay, helpless to get up.
“This way!” Mrs. Goodweather called back to the nurses, leading them along the side of the room toward the door. The babies were hard to carry; they were frightened and they struggled. Mrs. Goodweather’s arms felt like lead, but she pushed on. They had almost reached the doors to the kitchen.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” screamed one of the nurses.
A white-coated driver had grabbed her. Another driver yanked one of the babies from her arms.
“No!” screamed Mrs. Goodweather, lunging toward them, but she was hindered by the two heavy, squirming babies in her arms. She looked around desperately for something, anything that might help, and spotted a she-bear standing nervously nearby. Mrs. Goodweather made a desperate whistle, hoping to get the bear’s attention.
The bear had an injured paw and looked confused. When she heard Mrs. Goodweather’s whistle, the she-bear looked toward her with eyes red from the smoke. As their eye
s met, the bear seemed to sense a friend.
The she-bear looked as though she had had enough of this madness. She stood, shaking herself, and moved toward the drivers. They took no notice and continued to drag the young nurse and the baby away, so the she-bear attacked. Roaring her rage, she moved so fast nobody even saw the mighty swipe of her paw that deftly knocked the drivers away from the nurse and child. Unharmed, the nurse ran back to Mrs. Goodweather, who pulled her quickly to safety. Pausing at the door to the kitchen, Mrs. Goodweather looked back and made a low whistle to the bear. The bear turned away from the prone figures on the floor and followed her. Mrs. Goodweather hurried, her arms nearly numb from the weight of the heavy babies. She had an idea of where to hide them, and then she had to find Chloe!
Mrs. Goodweather led the nurses to the silver pantry, where she had taken the silver tray earlier in the evening. It already seemed a lifetime ago—had it only been a few hours since she and Chloe had played their little ruse on the unsuspecting footman? Little had he known what that little prank would cost him.
“Stay in here,” she ordered the nurses, handing her babies to them. “You should be safe, at least for the moment.”
“I will post a guard outside this door, and I promise I will be back as soon as I am able!”
The frightened nurses nodded tearfully, and held the squirming, squalling babies close.
Mrs. Goodweather stepped out of the pantry and closed the door. She said to the bear who was waiting in the hallway, “I have another favor to ask you.”
The bear growled softly.
“I must ask that you guard this door. Don’t let anyone in or out until I come back. Do you understand?” The bear seemed to understand what it was the woman wanted, and accepted the task with a toss of her head.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Goodweather gratefully, smoothing her skirt and tightening her apron strings. “For everything. You are a very kind bear.” The she-bear just looked back at the woman and said nothing.